He cried out as he came.

She wound above him, gripping his hardness with her wetness. Sweat sheened her body in the half light that shone through a gap in the curtains. Her body kept moving, her hips sliding backwards and forwards on his, grinding down on him, taking him in, emptying him. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the bed on either side of his body. She began to slow.

He looked at her as she leaned over him. Her breasts were small but well formed, with dark, prominent nipples. She wasn’t skinny but she was very slim. He could see her ribs as her chest filled and emptied with her now lessening breaths. Her hair was dark, almost black in the dim light, and it fell forward, masking her face until she raised her head. Her eyes were still closed and her lips were slightly parted. He could feel her breath on his face. It smelled of something he couldn’t name, some kind of spices.

His mouth was dry and he swallowed twice before speaking.  “Oh, god,” he said.  “Oh, my god.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. The bright grey irises were startling. They had been the first thing he had noticed about her. In the bar, talking with some of his friends, he’d turned to look in her direction just as she’d walked in and she’d seen him at the same instant that he saw her. The sight of her took his breath away, literally made it hard for him to breathe. He was young and fit and handsome but quite shy. He never made the first move. He did then, though, immediately and without hesitation. He walked over to her and said hello and she smiled and he bought her a drink and she spoke in a voice like song and they walked back to his place and they kissed and undressed and climbed into bed and now here they were. Coupled.

He was as much a boy as a man. He came from a large family in an industrial city in the north of England, a family with the sort of high moral codes in which fidelity was a prized virtue, and so he was unusual amongst his peers for being a virgin. He’d had every intention of saving himself for his wedding night and his future wife, whoever she turned out to be, and yet somehow he had ended up here, tonight, in bed with a complete stranger and, strangely, he didn’t regret it. He wanted more. He wanted her, this woman who hung above him now, staring into his eyes. He wondered what she was thinking. What did she want from him? Could she tell he had been a virgin? What would she think? He decided that it would perhaps be best not to tell her right now.

“That was fantastic,” he said, looking back into those hypnotic eyes. “Fabulous, really. Was it okay for you?”  He laughed, not waiting for an answer.

He ran his hands along the smoothness of her thighs, cupping them round her buttocks and gently squeezing the fleshy softness. He could feel her tightening on him as he diminished. It was as though she didn’t want it to end. He wondered how long it would be before he would be able to do it again.

She dismounted, his softening penis leaving her body with a sound like a wet kiss. She swung gracefully off the bed and he watched in puzzlement as she placed her hands on her pubis. He wondered if she needed the bathroom. She stood facing the wall for a moment and then turned away and walked slowly towards the window at the far end of the bedroom. She had long, slender legs, and the way she walked was almost feline, the pelvic girdle rising and falling in opposition to her shoulders as she moved.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

He felt so full. He’d never felt anything like this before, nothing so intense. He wondered if this was the real thing, true love or whatever. He laughed silently to himself. True love, he thought. I don’t know anything about her. I’m not even sure of her name. I just know I want her. I need her.

She came to the tall window. She reached up and pulled the curtains apart. The glow of  streetlight spilled into the room, painting her naked body a sour yellow against the black shadow of the room behind her. It was like a vision, a chiaroscuro dream. It would be his last memory on the day he died. He saw her outline, the hang of her breasts and the swell of her belly and the roundness of her buttocks, and he felt a returning surge of blood.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” he said, smiling. “Somebody’ll see you. Come back to bed.”

She looked back at him. He could see no emotion on her face. She turned her head away and undid the catch and slid the top half of the sash window down. She lifted her face to the night sky and placed her hands together, as if in prayer.

“Come,” she sang, to the star-sparkled darkness. “Come. I have the seed.”